Headaches
by Housecall
Summary: Cuddy has a medical condition. Can Dr. House help? Huddy oneshot, T for adult themes. If you're old enough, you'll get it and if you're not, you'll just be confused. The first fic I've written since 2002. That's how much this show inspires me.


He appeared at her place in the middle of the night, but somehow she didn't find it strange. He was leaning against the frame of her open door, tapping his cane impatiently on the threshold with neither greeting nor apology.

"You're shaking," House informed her without preamble.

Cuddy pulled her thin pink blanket around her shoulders. "I'm... cold," she lied. "I'm fine. What do you want?"

"Sexual favors." But he looked like a lost puppy.

With a long-suffering sigh, she moved aside. House's eyes narrowed as he peered into the dim living room in a habitual search for clues. To what, she didn't know. He plopped down on the couch and hoisted his bad leg onto the coffee table.

"House," Cuddy began, pressing the heel of her hand into her head, "I'm tired. It's midnight. What do you want?"

"I was just in the neighborhood."

She could feel his eyes following her as she closed the door and sat in a chair across from the sofa. "Is this about a case?"

"No. Do I need a reason to visit a friend? Maybe I just miss you," he whined.

"Uh huh. You want Vicodin, maybe?" House didn't look in any more pain than usual, not that it made any difference to his addiction. She pressed her fingertips into the side of her head. It felt like her skull was bruised.

He'd pulled a bottle from his pocket and shook it, the pills inside rattling. The sound was jarring. He cocked his head. "You have a headache." It wasn't a question.

Cuddy nodded and rubbed the back of her neck. "Please, House. It's late. Why are you here?"

He looked away. "Annoying you is my main form of entertainment." His eyes wandered to the walls, the furniture. "How's Junior?"

"Rachel's fine. She sleeps through the night." She regarded him silently for a moment. He'd explain himself when he was good and ready, and not a moment before. "Can I get you a drink or something?"

The blue eyes fixed themselves back on her. The orange bottle reappeared. "Got any Scotch?"

"I'm not giving you alcohol to go with those pills."

He rolled his eyes in a distractingly characteristic expression. "Then just some water would be great, Mommy."

Cuddy nodded, grateful for the opportunity to escape him for a moment. At least, physically. His voice followed her into the kitchen as she washed her hands vigorously.

"On the rocks!" he stage-whispered. At least the baby wouldn't be awakened.

By the time she returned he had both legs on the sofa, shoes off, his head propped on the throw pillows. He tossed down God knew how many pills, chased them with half the water, and jerked his head in her direction. "Increased respiration," he noted.

She shrugged, regarding him from the other side of the table. House of all people would notice fast breathing, given his preoccupation with her chest. "You startled me when you knocked."

"You were awake."

She nodded.

"What were you doing?"

"Staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep." _Well, it's the truth,_ she told herself defensively. "Is that why you're here? Insomnia?"

"Don't deflect. You were--" House stopped mid-sentence, cocking his head. He bolted upright, wincing as his right foot hit the floor. "Ah-ha! You're not alone, are you?" He jumped up and hobbled around the room, peering into corners like a little boy looking for hidden Christmas presents. "Who is it? Is it anyone I know?"

His devious half-grin wasn't quite enough to quash the humiliation rising in her chest. "It's just Rachel and me."

"Aww," he mocked, "let me guess. Loverboy didn't meet your expectations, so you blew him --" he paused just enough for effect "--off. Told him you have a headache."

Cuddy's scalp throbbed. "Yeah, okay."

Her unwillingness to play the game seemed to sober him. There was little point in mocking her if she wouldn't fight back. "You're rubbing the left side of your head. Your migraines are always in your right temple."

_Shit._ The last thing she needed was for Dr. Holmes here to open a investigation on her medical issues. "This isn't a migraine. It's a tension headache."

"What brought it on?" He settled back onto the sofa.

"Um, tension?" She stood up. "If you're not going to tell me why you're visiting me with no case, at midnight on a Saturday, then I'm just going back to bed."

"But I _do_ have a case, now."

Cuddy pulled a blanket out of a nearby linen closet and threw it over him. "Feel free to sleep on the couch."

In the time it took her to find the blanket his phone had materialized as if from nowhere, and he was talking to someone. "Yuh. Get the team together, we have a case." He flipped it shut just as Cuddy snatched it away.

"House, _please._"

Something in her voice seemed to throw him off, just a little. He gestured for the phone, placatingly, and flipped it open again. "Call it off." Pause. "You're right, I shouldn't have called. I don't need you people anyway. You're all fired." He snapped the phone shut and nodded toward the chair. "Talk to me."

_Come on, you're a doctor, make something up._ "Sometimes I wake up with headaches."

He sighed. "See, now you're lying."

In spite of it all, Cuddy had always found it entertaining to watch House process information. It'd be a lot more entertaining, this time, if he'd been wrong. "Fine. I was – I was huffing glue," she said sarcastically. "What can I say? It's an _addiction._"

He rolled his eyes again. "That's the best you can do? You're lying, and now you're deflecting, which means whatever this is, it's something you don't want me to know about."

"Maybe I'm just trying to entertain you. Or distract you from looking in my bedroom and discovering my secret lover."

His eyes narrowed. "No. No, you really do have a headache. And... you already have the diagnosis, don't you?"

Sighing again, she sank into the chair opposite him. "Yes, I know what I have. So you don't need to diagnose me. Game over."

Like it was going to be that easy. "Is it throbbing?"

Cuddy bit her lip. He was going to figure this out – there was no way around it. On the other hand, she'd be damned if she volunteered the information. Let him work for it, let him bludgeon it out of her and feel guilty later – if he were even capable of guilt. "Yes," she told him resignedly.

"Did it come on all of a sudden?"

"Yes."

"While you were awake?"

"Yes."

She watched his eyes focus inward, knowing he was flipping through his extensive mental catalogue of symptoms and diseases. His rapid progression from processing to recognition was endlessly fascinating to observe. Yet there were times Cuddy felt she barely knew him. How could he be so oddly transparent, _and_ a complete mystery, all at the same time? The question made her head throb even more.

"What were you doing?"

It was her turn to pause for effect. The lie was part of the game, a completely unnecessary ploy; she knew he already had it. "Exercising."

House's head dipped, his lips pursed. "Orgasmic cephalalgia."

Her silence confirmed it.

"How long?"

Cuddy rubbed her eye, thinking. "Forever. Always."

He looked mildly scandalized. "Every time? Even when--"

"No. Not..." Damn it, she hadn't wanted him to know this part. Too late. "Not that time. That was... That was the only time it didn't happen."

She practically see his head swelling, and he was coming dangerously close to a genuine grin. "So I'm the only man who ever gave you a decent--"

"Just let it go, all right?" The pain in her head had diminished somewhat, but disturbing flecks still passed before her retinas. She pressed her palms against her eyes.

House actually seemed sympathetic for a moment. Then he ruined it by opening his mouth. "This explains a lot. If _I _couldn't get off without a sudden blinding headache, _I'd_ be pretty bitchy too."

"Shut up."

"Indomethacin?"

"Doesn't work for me."

"Imitrex, Maxalt, Amerge?"

"No, no, and makes me nauseous." The pain was fading a bit now, down to a dull ache from its previous agonizing peak. "I _am_ a doctor, you know. Beta blockers only work in about half the cases. I'm in the unlucky half."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Have you tried --"

"I'm allergic to Propanolol. And the OTC stuff doesn't help either."

He frowned and she realized her mistake. He hadn't known about her allergy, and he prided himself on knowing everything about the people in his little world. This new information was tantamount to waving a delicious meaty bone in front of a starving dog; now he'd pursue this until he found an answer.

"There was a study--"

"House, I don't need you to treat me. It's a benign condition. It's frustrating, it's painful, but--"

"Yeah yeah yeah. You know you have this condition, so why would you even want to... tease the little man in the canoe?"

"What makes you think I was alone?"

"You said you were. Also, no extra car in the driveway."

"Well, I could have--"

He silenced her with a look. "Alone or not is irrelevant. What I don't understand is why you'd want to either way. Seriously. You know what's gonna happen as soon as the Big O arrives, so why--"

"If you had this condition, would you let it stop you?" She cradled her aching head in her hands. "I like sex. I like orgasms. Sometimes it's worth the pain."

House's cool blue eyes flickered oddly. "Maybe it's something else. Blood pressure, aneurysm..."

"No and no. It's--" Cuddy hesitated. "It gets worse with tension."

"Stress. Well, you are a new Mommy."

He'd said "Mommy" differently; where before it was a silly joke, this time it was... resentful. "Yeah. I have a little _work_-related stress too. Maybe you've noticed?"

House pushed his mouth to one side as if deep in thought. "No kidding. You should totally fire that Foreman guy." Cuddy thought she caught a glimpse of what might be guilt, but she just couldn't ever be sure. She couldn't trust anything about him, including his body language. _Everybody lies._

"Right." She stifled a yawn. "Why are you here, again?"

"I'm bored."

"You woke me up at midnight because you're _bored_?"

He gave her his patented leer. As usual, it didn't feel even slightly offensive. It was somehow... validating. "I think we've established that you weren't asleep."

"All right, you're bored. How can I entertain you--" the leer returned "--in a way that doesn't involve the removal of clothing?"

He looked a bit crestfallen, and again Cuddy couldn't tell if it was an act. This was the whole problem with House. You could never tell what was genuine and what was a joke or a deflection. Every time she thought she saw a glimmer of... something... it was whisked away, usually by a remark that would be a dream come true for any sexual harassment lawyer.

House inhaled, about to speak, when his phone rang. "Busy," he said into it, the phone half closed before the whole word escaped his lips. "Got a deck of cards?"

She smiled a little at that, flashing back to a tuxedo and a cigar she'd strangely envied. "Not for money," she told him, producing a pack from a nearby drawer.

"For what, then?"

"Sexual favors." She was kidding, or at least told herself as much.

House's eyes still darkened. There it was yet again, that little something, that fleeting and unexpressed... something. "You know," he began conversationally, "there are techniques that can help your little problem."

Cuddy fanned the cards, unable to meet his eyes. "I know."

"Slow, deep breathing, relaxation."

"Two things that don't go all that well with sex." She shuffled expertly and started dealing.

"It's possible. Just keep your shoulders, neck and jaw relaxed."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Do you have a seven?"

It was Cuddy's turn for an eyeroll. Of course they'd play Go Fish. A child's game with no real challenge. The cards were to distract her; the real game was the one he was playing on her head. Again. Mutely, she pulled out her seven of hearts and slid it across the table. "Do you have a three?"

"Go fish. An attentive partner would help. King?"

"Go fish." She rubbed her head again, pressing a knuckle into the tender spot. An attentive partner _would_ help – the physical logistics of the DIY approach were what created the upper-body tension in the first place. "Seven?"

"Here you go. I need a four. A decent partner," he continued slowly, "would take the time to give you what you need." His eyes locked on hers and refused to release.

All at once Cuddy understood what she was seeing. Terror, desperation, loneliness. She pulled it into herself, preferring even this to the distance he usually created. Emotions meant there was a person in there somewhere. This had never been about boredom. Of course it hadn't; he would have gone to Wilson for that. She understood, now, that House didn't know what he wanted, or even why he was here. He filled in that confusing blank with a boatload of sexual desire, a scientifically explainable physiological need. But again – there were hookers for that. Cuddy had something else he needed. He told himself it was just sex; clearly it wasn't.

"House, why are you really here?"

It was the wrong thing to say. She watched sadly as he looked away, disappearing back into himself. "Wilson's busy. It's Half-Price Hooker Night downtown." By the time his eyes reached hers again, it was just House, House with his steely gaze and his inscrutable expression.

"So it really is just boredom? Too bad," she said with a half-smile. "'Cause I've got a lot of needs."

_Ah, there it is._ Once in a while she still had the ability to surprise him. The interest flashed briefly across his face, too primal a reaction to conceal before she caught it. His mouth opened just as his phone rang yet again. With an irritated sigh, he flipped it open. "What?" he demanded, too loudly. "I told you, I'm busy... So what? …No, you idiots, it's never lupus. Do a tox screen."

Rachel's cries echoed down the stairwell. Cuddy climbed the stairs and lifted her from the crib, wincing as House's harsh voice filtered up into the baby's room. She cradled her gently and padded back down the stairs. House had slipped his shoes back on and was limping toward the door.

"You have a case?" she asked.

The door half open, he turned back to her. "Yuh. Thirteen says she's a model or something, so I really need to be there. You know, in my supervisory capacity." He seemed slightly awkward, or maybe it was her imagination. "And because I like to watch that hot lesbian action."

"Right." Cuddy didn't smile. He'd clearly found his escape from whatever intimacy had been about to bloom.

House took a step forward, fully outside her door now, but then turned to close it. He stood for a moment, his face unreadable, gazing silently at Cuddy and her daughter. For a split second one corner of his mouth quirked upward. His eyes flashed again and he nodded so slightly she nearly missed it. A regret, an apology, perhaps even a promise. She gave a nod she hoped he'd read as, "To be continued."

Cuddy shifted the baby and watched through the sheer curtains as he mounted his bike and roared into the night. Maybe there was hope after all.

A/N: The medical condition in this story is unfortunately real, as are the drugs mentioned as treatments. It is generally benign but that doesn't make sufferers feel any better. Believe me – I know. It's more common in men but some women have it too. What happens is, right at the moment of truth, you get a terrible headache. Often without warning. I'm talking 9 or 10 on the pain scale, and some people even pass out from the pain. It's a truly awful malady.

Also, I feel like this story is dying for a smutty sequel or "Part 2." Dr. House can certainly cure Cuddy's problem, don't you think? I'm terrible at smut, so you have my complete and free permission to go for it! All I ask is that you let me know so I can read it!


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